Frustrated, I peel myself off the couch and hop directly into some workout clothes. I take a deep breath as I step outside my building and stretch one quad and then the other. It’s early yet, and as it’s mid-April, there’s night-frost on the few tulips that have bloomed in the tree wells. There are a few early-morning commuters headed up Bedford toward the trains, but for the most part, I have the sidewalk to myself as I set off at a jog.

The air still has that sleepy, dawn-ish feeling about it where everything feels like a secret. My footsteps are loud as I run past all the houses where people are still tucked into their beds. Here’s the thing. I don’t sleep well, and of course, I wish I could sleep better. But part of me also likes being awake when everyone else is asleep. It makes me feel like I know something that almost no one else does. If the aliens came right now, at this very second, I’d be the one they’d see first. The top of my head bopping along as I jog down the street. Everyone’s asleep and I’m on neighborhood watch. Look at me, holding down the fort for all these sleeping strangers. It’s a good feeling.

I get to the gym just as Raoul is opening up the security gate.

“Hey, kid.” His tawny skin crinkles into smile lines but his mouth stays serious. He’s not surprised to see me.

I’ve only known him for the few months since I moved to this neighborhood to take over for Pops, but Raoul is one of those people who shows you everything at once. Once you know him, you know him. He didn’t bat an eye when I showed up that first day, even though I was surely one of the very few women to ever ask for a membership at his gym.

Geddy’s is not a designer gym. This isn’t where you go on January third to maximize your weight-loss potential. They don’t sell expensive water at the front desk or put fancy shampoo in the showers. Your membership buys you access to the equipment, exactly one scratchy towel a visit, and if you’re lucky, some one-on-one time with Raoul Geddy himself.

Geddy’s is where you go if you want someone to step on your back when you’re doing pushups. It’s where you go if you want to beat the shit out of a punching bag. It’s where you go if when you split the skin on your knuckles, you want an old man to superglue the cut closed.